


Bourbon

by Haumeia (Empatheia)



Category: Trigun
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-16
Updated: 2008-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Haumeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dangers of letting the drink do your thinking for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bourbon

Oh, he was going to hate himself for this tomorrow.

But right now, there was bourbon running in his veins instead of blood, and it seemed all right to pretend it was all just a dream. Just for now. Just while the memory-killer's power lasted.

The red coat pulled away easily enough under his fingers. There was a wide expanse of unevenly dyed brown cloth beneath.

The boy's eyes cracked, regarded him far more clearly than they should have been able to with that much alcohol in his system. "Whaddya doin'?"

"Singing you a lullaby," muttered Marlon. "Lie down and shut up."

Beneath the cloth of his shirt there was more cloth, and more, until Marlon despaired of ever finding the person within. He was so much thinner than he looked from outside, but it seemed much if not most of that was just clothing. He was a rail. Marlon's rough hands could span his waist easily, and did, when he cared to test it.

The boy shivered and giggled, twisting his long, long body with unexpected flexibility.

"Dammit, lie still! You'll knee me in the face at this rate, you idiot."

"Cold! Hands are cold!" the boy gasped, grinning.

Marlon planted one strong fist on his chest and bore down, flattening the boy to the bed so his other hand could continue its journey. "Just pretend you're dreaming, kid. I'll be done soon."

The pants were tied with rawhide, which would have been a challenge if he had been slightly less drunk, but at this level, the effect of alcohol on him changed and he became nearly sober. All that was different between him like this and him normally was that like this, he was immune to memory and the ugly kind of pain that came with it.

He certainly had no problems keeping any part of him upright. His trousers, in testament to that, were rasping uncomfortably over the loaded pistol he'd been sporting on and off since he'd first wrestled the boy halfway across the town square earlier the day before.

"Seriously, though, what are you doing?" the boy asked, sounding far, far too sober for a man who'd matched him shot for shot for hours.

Marlon decided to answer that question in a more decisive manner than merely speaking. He located the waistband of the boy's underpants and yanked them down.

Surprisingly, the boy was as hard as he was, pale and arching wetly against his sparsely haired belly. Marlon took him in his fist at the base and drew his hand up to the tip, following the progress with his eyes and marvelling.

"Seems you hold your liquor pretty well too," Marlon commented, then swallowed the dick in his hand whole.

The boy let out a gasp and slammed his hips painfully into Marlon's face. That was all right. This pain was all right. It was an old friend of his and not unwelcome at the moment. Ignoring it, he chose instead to drag his tongue up the underside of the boy's dick, then suck it back down. Hard. The boy whimpered and jerked, but Marlon was ready for it this time and held him down while he continued his ministrations.

The boy tasted pleasantly salty, and was smooth under his tongue. He set up an easy rhythm while his hands roamed restlessly across the boy's legs and chest. He didn't often go for this kind of thing, but something about this guy just really set him off for some reason.

After only a few more minutes, the boy cried out and writhed powerfully under him.

Marlon's mouth filled with bitter, viscous fluid. Turning his head, he spat it out, then wiped his mouth.

"Been wanting to do that all damn night," he commented gruffly. "Think you'll remember this in the morning?"

"Probably," the boy said weakly, then amended "not."

"Good," said Marlon. "Shut up and go to sleep."

The boy frowned, then sat up.

Wait,  no, that was strange. Wrong reaction.

"But that's no fair," he said, mouth twisting. "I don't like owing people favours."

"It's not a— what the hell, kid, you wanna die?"

But it was too late. He was already flat on his back on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles, his trousers sliding with alarming speed down his legs. Despite how thin he was, the boy's hands were huge, long-fingered and broad-palmed. They fit perfectly over Marlon's thighs.

The boy's breath ghosted over his dick and he had to bite back a humiliating noise. God, but he hoped neither of them would remember this in the morning. They'd never be able to look each other in the eyes again.

He gritted his teeth and cleared his mind as best he could through the fog of arousal. "You really don't have to do this, kid. I can take care of myse—" The remainder of his half-hearted protest died in his throat as the boy sighed and the hot gust of breath swept across his skin. "God almighty."

"Don't worry about it! Truth is, I've been having a bit of trouble _not_ doing this right from the start. I kind of figured you wouldn't take it well, but I'm glad to see I was wrong."

Across his bared expanse of sparsely-haired belly, Marlon stared at the beaming boy and tried very, very hard not to fall in love. He mostly failed, which was bad.

"Well, then, onwards and upwards," said the boy, and wasn't that just like his idiot self to say something that stupid right before—

"Mother of Christ!" swore Marlon, nearly biting his tongue off.

The boy's mouth was long, narrow, and contained a debilitatingly clever tongue. "Mmf," he said helpfully, causing Marlon's eyes to cross. "Hmfl-flmmf."

His brow creased, and then he really set to work, using not only his mouth but both his hands. The left danced tantalisingly over Marlon's balls, while a finger of the right teased his asshole until he thought he'd crack in half from the strain of holding still and not breaking the kid's nose.

He was old, much older than the kid, and had learned a lot about restraint over the years. He should have been able to last so much longer than this, but somehow the combination of the pleased expression on the boy's face and the unexpectedly expert play of tongue and fingers was dragging him towards the edge at frightening speed.

Marlon opened his mouth to warn the boy, but didn't make it quite in time. With a spasming thrust of his hips he couldn't have helped given all the rope and sobriety in the world, he emptied himself right in the boy's face... who, bloody hell, swallowed what he could and proceeded to happily lick the stray tendrils away from his lips and chin.

"You're killing me," he rasped. "Crazy goddamn kid."

"Feel better?" was the boy's only response, along with a bright smile.

Marlon nodded. "Hell yes. Now will you go to sleep?"

The boy, as if only now noticing that it was dark o'clock in the friggin' morning and he was piss-drunk half out of his mind, yawned and had the nerve to looked surprised. "I guess," he said, then hauled both himself and Marlon up into the narrow, rickety bed with shocking strength. He drew Marlon's head into the crook of his neck and bent his long, thin body around him until they were curled together like string-beans in a pot.

"Sleep tight!" he said drowsily, and just like that, fell asleep.

Marlon stayed awake for another few moments, staring up at his guileless face, then succumbed himself.

The last thought he had before the darkness claimed him entirely was a half-formed prayer for forgetfulness.

He didn't even know the boy's name.

**X**


End file.
